To Forgive
by Mrs Don Draper
Summary: Bruce finds an unusual antidote for when he Hulks out. Written for an Anon who requested "repressing the Hulk with sex" at avengerskink on LJ.*Dub-con*


Bruce has been testing samples and serums for weeks now. Well, really it's been _years_ that he's been looking for a cure, but this is the first time he's had access to _this_ kind of technology. And he doesn't have to ask for permission or get sign-offs from government officials. There's no filling out of forms or signing of contracts or even the fear of breaking the law...as far as he knows. One can never be sure with Tony, of course. His latest test has been cheek swabs. It is perhaps the easiest cell to obtain, right up there with spit, skin, blood, hair, DNA, and chromosomes. Sometimes the best solution is the simplest one, and God damn it if Bruce isn't going to try again. The other result, looming in the back of his mind is a constant presence. If it could only be that easy. It wasn't like he could just go up to Thor or Steve or, Jesus, Tony, and ask them to-Ask them to. Well. No, he just needs fresh comparisons, and Tony was the only one available as everyone else was scattered across the world doing odd jobs for SHEILD.

"Jarvis?" Bruce asks.

"Yes, what can I do for you today, sir?"

"Can you send a message to Tony for me? Tell him that I need some of his cells."

Jarvis confirms that the message is being passed along to the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, so Bruce goes back to taking notes and looking at slides under a very nice, expensive microscope. Stark brand, of course. Bruce honestly doesn't expect to see Tony today, if at all. The man pretty much does want he wants on his own time. And anyway, he can't exactly demand that Tony assist him since this is his house, and he is just a guest, no matter how well they got along when they were together. So when he hears the door to the lab slide open, he's a little bit surprised.

"Thanks, Tony. This'll really just take a second. Just trying to compare my samples to...normal people samples."

Tony frowns slightly at his self-deprecating remark, but lets it slide this time. Tony has a lot to do, and it appears as if Bruce does too, so there's no use getting into it right now. So Tony simply rolls up the sleeve on his right arm so Bruce can fill up a few tubes. A few swipes of alcohol, a tingling stick, a Band-Aide on top, and it's over. Next is a hair sample ("Ow! Watch where you're pulling!"), spit in a Dixie cup ("Ah, Tony. Do you really need to make those noises?"), and lastly, a swab for the cheek cells.

"Open wide."

Tony smirks. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Bruce's cheeks color in embarrassment. No, Tony was _not_ suggesting...He decides to play it off. Bruce rolls his eyes. He should have expected nothing else from him.

"Come on, Tony. Let's just get this over with."

Eventually Tony does, and Bruce is packaging the swab. And before he knows it, Tony is walking back out the door, leaving him with his thoughts and his samples. He decides to use the blood first, get some gene and chromosomal readings before moving on to hair. It's midnight when he gets the readings from the spit (nothing conclusive; he and Bruce share the same components, so gland function—at least in the mouth—can be crossed off the list for now). Looking at the clock, Bruce knows he is going to be exhausted tomorrow, but a scientist's work is never done, so with a yawn, he gathers up the cheek swab for the last test of the evening. Not expecting anything spectacular or odd, he prepares the slide on autopilot and slumps down tiredly to looking into the scope.

He immediately jumps back. No. No _way_ did he just see what he thinks he saw. It couldn't be. He leans in for another look.

And, yep, there they are. Several little sperm cells wiggling on the glass slide before him, along with expected red blood cells, skin cells, and bits of plasma. Trying to keep his cool, he runs the sperm through SHIELD's DNA database to see just exactly these little guys belonged to. When the results came in, he was happy to note that they belonged to no one in SHEILD, but did belong to the aptly named Jake Cummings, who Bruce found through a government database which told him that Jake had been arrested—but not convicted—of being an "escort to the stars." Bruce closed the tabs.

Who hires an escort, not to find pleasure for themselves, but to please the escort himself. God, if Tony did that, it would make his life so much easier. No one wants to jack off into a cup and then guzzle it down like a soft drink. Tony would know how to make it hot, sexy. He'd know how to make him feel good, so good that he'd _want_ to kiss Tony after Tony sucked him off. It made him shiver just to think about it. Fuck, Tony on his knees—in his own house—between Bruce's thighs, licking and sucking, mouth stretched wide around his thick cock.

His own moan knocks him out of his reverie. He hadn't even realized that he had been holding himself through his pants. He let go of himself in shame. It is upsetting to think that his solution is just a few floors away from him, but propriety, morals, shame, and guilt all keep him back from the door. It would be so easy to take away the pain of transformation, to take away the inevitable self-hatred that followed. Bruce can almost feel the boiling of his blood, just beneath the surface, ready to burst forth into an abomination to society. He is disgusted by himself. Bruce grits his teeth together.

He is pathetic. Weak. He can't even control his own emotions like any regular adult could. His shirt begins to tear and his pants to rip. Horrified, he looks down at his hands. It was happening. He had to get to Tony. He _had_ to. There was no other way about it. He can't afford to go rampaging through the city this time. There's no threat to society except himself. There would be no excuses.

Tearing through the tower, Bruce shakily makes his way to Tony's room. He's under control but barely. He knows he's running out of time. Without even knocking, Bruce barges through the door to Tony's bed, grabbing him by the shoulders to furiously wake him.

"What? What is it that can't wait until the sun is up?"

Yanking his shoulder from Bruce tight grasp, he turns on his bedside lamp and is greeted by a very green, not yet mean, Bruce Banner.

"Fuck! You better run man, seriously. Get out before you hurt yourself...or me! Or anyone else for that matter."

With no time to explain, Bruce pulls Tony in for a shockingly forceful kiss. Tongue pushing in uninvited, hands grasping and groping. Tony mewls beneath him in protest and surprise, but doesn't—or can't—fight back. With trembling hands, he fitfully rips off both his pants and boxers and shoves Tony back down into the mattress. For the first time since he barged in, Tony can gulp lungfuls of much needed oxygen. Bruce's green-brown eyes search his, hoping his urgency is conveyed.

This is beyond him. This is out of either of their control. Tony knows he can either surrender or fight, and no one wins a fight against the Hulk. No, not the Hulk, that implies he's evil, a monster. Bruce is fucking his friend. And God, if this is what Bruce has to do...Tony closes his eyes in surrender.

Climbing up further on the bed, Bruce straddles Tony's shoulder and guides his weeping, green cock down into Tony's waiting mouth. Bruce squeezes his eyes shut at the magnificent sensation. He tries to be slow and shallow, but again the necessity of the act forces him to increase his pace and to thrust ever deeper into Tony's throat. When he finally, finally feels his balls drawn up, tight and hard against him, he knows it'll be over soon.

And then fuck, Tony hums and swallows and chokes himself on Bruce's dick, and he finally can't take it anymore and just comes hard and fast. There's a loud ringing in his ears as he scrambles off Tony's face and down his muscular body.

"Kiss me!" Bruce whines.

And Tony just flips him over like it's nothing, and now Bruce is opening up his mouth to taste his own essence there, and gradually, brokenly the green hue to his skin pales back to white, green-brown eyes slip back to brown, and muscles shrink back to their natural size. Panting, he realizes that Tony is still atop him, kissing his neck, and holding his hips steady as he shakes back to reality.

Tears pricking his eyes, he ventures, "Tony?"

Tony stops his ministrations and opens his eyes to look down at him.

"Tony, I-"

Only, he doesn't even know what to say, or even if there was anything he _could_ say at this point.

"I-I should have told you, but-How could I? I didn't know. I'm just-I'm just really, really sorry..."

Tony sits back on his feet, and Bruce scoots himself up into a sitting position. Bruce can't meet Tony's eyes, so he decides to look at an ever-so-fascinating spot on the floor. He has to look, though, when Tony takes his hand in his.

"Are you ok?" he asks.

And Bruce starts crying in earnest now. Tony wraps his arms around him.

Tony speaks three simple words: "I forgive you."

And Bruce knows that they will be ok.


End file.
